| “Bless you,” the waitress said. “Thanks.” Joe daubed his nose. Stupid cold. “I caught a chill last night, and I can’t shake it. Say, you got some matches?” “Sure.” The waitress took out a book from her apron pocket. Joe looked at the book. “I’m very sorry,” he said. “What? Why?” He held up the matchbook. “These are standard giveaways. We make our money selling them to the advertisers and give them away as promotional items. You know, get the foot in the door, then work on them for custom jobs. You used to have customs here, right? Well, if there’s one thing I’ve noticed, it’s that whenever a diner cancels its custom matchbooks, it’s having money problems, and they always fold. They never order again, in any case.” “Uh huh. Gee. Well, I’d be worried, but I got them at the newsstand at the train station.” “Hah! Right. My mistake.” She went down the counter, pouring coffee whether the customers wanted it or not. Joe looked down at the Art Talent book. He never liked these. He thought if you have art talent, you probably know it already. The suggestion here was rather obvious: if you can draw attractive women, you can make them do anything. See those pictures in your head on the paper! He looked at the waitress; he looked at matchbook. He looked at his watch: lunch was over. |
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this is a work of fiction c. 2005 j. lileks. / joe home / lileks.com home